


They say

by Avidfangirlforlife



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avidfangirlforlife/pseuds/Avidfangirlforlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout your life, they've always had something to say about you, and you have always cared about their opinions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They say

The problem with you, you think, is that you tend to listen to what other people say. Especially when the things that they say concern you, then you find their opinions impossible to ignore. Other people say a huge amount of things, and you care what they say, far more than you probably should. Mother would say that caring about another's opinion of oneself is a good quality for a politician, but you just wish that people wouldn't pry into your personal life quite so much.

They say that meeting someone on the Internet is crazy, she could be a catfish, she could be any one, you don't know her. They say it should never of happened, and that you're stupid for believing in it. They call you a fool, in whispers behind your back (always in whispers when they are certain you can not hear, because they still fear your mother more than a decade after her death), and they watch with bated breaths, waiting for it all to fall apart beneath your feet. 

They say that you can not possibly feel a connection to her, whoever she is, even if she's the only person to put a smile on your face since Daniel. Poor boy, they say. Never would have happened if he'd stayed away from her they say (they respect you, or at least your Mother's legacy, so they'd never say it to your face). If only her parents could see her now, they say. They'd be so disappointed, they say -Mother would, you know, but Daddy would be so happy- look how far she's willing to reach. You hear talk of fallen standards and speculations of a midlife crisis (that you're really not old enough to warrant) and it makes you worry about the next time you'll have to run.

They say that you're connection to this impossible woman can not possibly be real. How could it be, when she's miles away? How could it be real when she's never seemed that way inclined before? They say that it must be all in your head. It's the 21st century and they still believe it's impossible for a woman to know her own mind.

They say that what you feel towards her can not possibly be love. You're too young for real love, they say, even as they mark you and Daniel as star crossed lovers. Even though you've been single handedly running their town since you were eighteen and your Mother died. And you've done an amazing job. Even though you're capable and have proven yourself so, they still do not believe. 

She's a woman, they say, and you're straight. As if sexuality was not fluid, as if it were not possible to be open. They are all so narrow minded, and they say such things to try and impose their thinking upon you. They say that what you feel makes you an abomination, that it is wrong to love a woman as you do. They don't quite stoop to common slurs, but there is much muttering about saving their mayor. They say it even as you run their town with a smile, happier than you have been for a decade.

They say that what you feel is disgusting and immoral and wrong, and they use so many other words to describe it. They are certain that you can't possibly be sure. They say you should forget about her, with venom in their voices and no understanding in their hearts. As if she were so easy to forget, with her green eyes and her kind, dorky smile. They say you should just stop what you are doing and marry Leopold Blanchard, the elderly parishioner whom has lived across the road from you since you were born.

He's a nice man, they say, a kind man. Even though he's spent the past seventeen years looking down your shirt at every possible moment. Even though the way he looks at you makes your skin crawl as though a creature had burrowed beneath it. He would take good care of you, they say, as if that is what you need. To be looked after, even though you've been looking after yourself for longer than any of them would believe. They say this even though he is older than both of her parents, who have been dead for just over a decade. They say this even though it would be you doing the caring, playing nursemaid to a husband with jowls and shaking hands. They say it even though you went to school with his daughter. They say it even as they mutter about the suspicious circumstances under which his previous three wives died.

They say that you have lost god, if you had ever found him in the first place. It seems to always come back to how far you have fallen. They say that you are beyond redemption, even as they try to hold a full town intervention for their mayor. Although many do not attend- for which you are grateful- enough of them do that it worries you. 

They say you are a harlot and a whore. They say you are immoral, a sinner of the highest order, the very spawn of satan. All because you have the gall to love an impossible woman and her son and be loved in return. In their eyes your love is wrong, and so they voice their contempt in ringing voices and carrying whispers. It is always said as gossip, passing from one to another, but it is never said to your face, they wouldn't dare, your Mother's reputation still lives on.

They say all this and more because you have dared to remain unmarried in a town where that is not acceptable. They say it because by their standards you should have married at eighteen and stayed at home behind closed doors. You do not fit with their ideals, and now that is starkly clear. They say it because your first love was tragically stolen away before you could say 'I do', something they proclaim is a tragedy whilst still pushing you towards the elderly parishioner. And they say it because the last thing they want is to let you say it to your second love. 

They say it because you had the sheer audacity to reach out through the Internet and fall in love with a spunky female police officer from Boston and her adorable son. They say it because they look at you and see that she makes you happier than you've ever been before. All of those who talk whisper about how they would love for you to be happy, yet because Emma is a woman they fail to accept what is placed before them. They say it because you had the gall to turn down the old parishioners advances when his hands started to attempt to wander in a way that you know he has visualised since you were thirteen. You'd scrubbed the patch of skin where his hand had hovered until it was red raw, and it had still felt dirty.

They say it when the new sheriff rolls into town in her beat up yellow bug that you initially hated (because it was ostentatious and made far too much of a statement) but have come to love. They say it when you kiss her in the middle of the street in broad day light when she steps out of the car, and it surprises you that it doesn't bother you as much as it once would have. They talk when they see that she comes with a ten year old son in tow (it's all "She has no idea how to raise a child" and "how can the police officer be a lesbian"). 

They say it when her and Henry move into the Mayoral Mansion with you, even though you feel lighter than you have in years. As time passes, and as the three of you settle into a routine, you find that the house is far less lonely than it once was, full to the brim with happiness and laughter. They say it bitterly when they see you happy as a family. They've talked for years about wanting you to move on and be happy, but now that you have they can't accept it. Even though the smiles painted across your features every day are less fake than they've been in a decade.

They say it angrily when she picks you up and spins you around, in the middle of the diner (as though you weighed nothing more than a feather) kissing you all the while, whilst Henry yells in triumph and celebration when it is announced that you are allowed to get married. They mutter to themselves when they hear that it was a Supreme Court decision. They say it louder when, one month and a day later (to be precise), she gets down on one knee in the diner, in the middle of the dinner rush, beautiful emerald ring in hand, and asks you to marry her in the middle of the breakfast rush. They say it even louder when you throw yourself at her with a gasp turned sob and a breathless "yes" that rushes out from between your lips with more certainty and conviction than any other words you've ever spoken. They say it through averted eyes at the scene and Henry whooping and high-fiveing Ruby.

They say it louder, in bolder and more resentful voices, throughout your engagement. They say it in whispers that buzz around the meadow like a swarm of angry flies on the day of your wedding. An undercurrent that you, scarcely two years ago, would have been hurt by. They say that it is a sin of the worst sort, that you and the sheriff, your beautiful sheriff, are partaking in. They say it, but as she walks down the aisle towards you, beautiful in a way that makes your heart ache for the future, you don't care that they say it, even as you hear it.

After all, them saying it does not make it true, nor does it make you love her any less. And so as you say "I do" you resolve to stop caring what others think, because it never did you any good, and there are more important things in life after all.


End file.
